Dragons and Teashops
by Superbleh11
Summary: Set during Release. Zuko, having refused to inherit the throne, now runs a succesful tea shop away from the viciousness of the Royal Court. However, today is a very important day for him, as he reflects on his life and the person who gave it to him.


**A/N:** Well, here it is, my first attempt at writing since Release! This is a bit of a test: it's set in the same universe as Release, and Zuko will factor into the sequel that comes up later on, so... well you get the picture. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Superbleh11 does not claim to own Avatar or anything else which might get him thrown into court!

* * *

The coarse cloth of my woolen uniform presses against my skin as I lean against the counter top; the chill ceramic of the tea cup glides into my fingers as I pull it across the bar to meet me. Sharp, falsetto squeaks drift through the air as I forcefully push the washcloth into the cup, wiping the remaining tea dregs from the bottom before taking it back to be washed. 

"Zuko, darling!" her voice rings effeminately, "I'd just love another of your jasmine!"

I nod cursorily before disappearing into the back room. The atmosphere of the restaurant: peaceful, well-kept-up, and pleasing to the eye, disappears behind the swinging wooden doors as I enter the kitchen and wash area. Pleasant conversational chirping transforms into bustling activity as my waiters bark orders to the grouchy cooks, diligently scurrying about for the next batch of pastries to accompany the tea.

"Zuko!" Ping demands, without turning to meet me. His fists pummel a shapeless mound of yellowed dough, kneading and forcing it into the snowy flower piled up against the table.

"What's going on?" I ask, walking to meet him. Ping is one of my most reliable bakers, but he isn't exactly renowned for his good moods.

"We need to start 86'ing the pastries." His voice mirrors his exertions as he imprints his elbow into the tortured mixture, folding it mercilessly. "We're just about out of eggs. I don't think we can do many more batches before closing time."

A worried sigh escapes my lips as I think of the way out. I whirl around, before the hapless figure of young Sozin swirls into view.

"Hey, how many tables do you have?" I ask quickly. The teenager lifts his head up fearfully at me; the acne splattered across his young face seems more pronounced as his eyes widen.

"None, sir, but I'm next in rotation," he answers. I feel a slim smile of relief strike across my features as I walk over to him.

"Good. Go tell the hostesses to take you off the map for a little while. We need some eggs," I say, fishing into my pouch for some silver.

"Six dozen," Ping's voice calls out from across the back room.

"Six dozen," I repeat, firmly planting the coins in his hands. He looks at me blankly before nodding, and taking off.

"Better?" I ask, allowing the smirk to cross my face. Ping grunts illegibly and continues his work.

The dull, bitter perfume of the jasmine tea crosses my nostrils as I approach the counter, gripping the heated kettle and lifting it upwards. The sound of the tea splashing against the cup increases in pitch as it fills, the pure white and green of the painted porcelain disappearing beneath the opaque brown liquid. Without hesitation, I place the cup upon a saucer, and escape out to the bar area.

"There he is!" she coos excitedly, swivelling around in her stool as I come behind the top and scoot the heated cup across to her. Her silky fingers wrap themselves around slim handle; her little finger extends expertly as she brings the lip of the cup to her tastefully painted mouth. A long, luxurious sip drains down her throat, as her eyes close and her head tilts backwards.

"Is it good?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. A small, flirtatious grin escapes through her perfume.

"Always, Zuko darling," she answers, placing the cup back upon the saucer with a light clink.

I smile slightly in return, and begin to turn away when her light hand catches my shoulder and wheels me around. My little smirk dims slightly as she begins the same conversation we have every time she comes in for tea.

"Zuko, honey, when are you finally going to take me up on my offer?" she asks, but the sound is more akin to the low, husky purr of a cat. Her eyelashes lower slightly as her hand reaches for mine.

Like always, I can't help the fire-red blush that comes across my face, as I struggle to think of what to say. A small tint of pain crosses the scar over my eye as I say, "C'mon, Xiang."

"No, I will not _come on_" she insists, gripping my hand firmly. Her skin feels smooth and soft, like a goose down pillow, against my cracked and worn hand. "I come here all the time, and I ask you to accompany me out, and you always refuse. Why is that? Don't you think I'm pretty?"

My eyes widen fearfully; I'm normally so in control, especially here, in my restaurant, but one simple question from the pretty face of a regular is enough to completely unman me. I know her inquiry does not come from actual fear that I do not find her attractive, but rather, a delight in the discomfort it causes me. My hand subconsciously pours through my thick, scratchy hair, brushing lightly against the soft puckered flesh of my scarred eye.

"You know that you're pretty," I answer truthfully, leaning forward against the stone counter. Her little smirk never wavers.

"Well, then, what's the matter?" she asks, refusing to relent. Her grip on my hand becomes vicelike. "I'll have you know that I find scars to be very attractive. I mean, come on, Zuko darling, I'm a well-off, beautiful young girl, and you're a handsome war hero turned successful business owner. And all before the age of twenty five! It's a splendid match."

My blush deepens at the compliment, as does my consternation. Her grip finally loosens on my hand as I find nothing to say in exchange. The teacup meets her lips once again, but her eyes remain locked upon mine, keeping me firmly planted in place as she ponders over what to say next.

"You know, Zuko darling," she drawls, brushing a raven black strand of hair from her face, "One day, I may meet another man, and I may frequent this teashop less and less." The weight of the threat is convoluted by the singsong voice and casual nature by which it is expressed. "And on that day, honey, you will begin to miss me. And think of all the romance that could have been."

"Oh for crying out loud, Zuko, take the girl out!" Li insists from several stools down. Another frequent customer, the construction worker has a habit of expressing his opinion when it is least wanted. He grins mischievously, the effect coming across doubly strong through the unruly stubble decorating his face and the long, untamed hair dribbling down to his neck. "Or I might have to start wooing her myself!"

Xiang coughs, annoyed by Li's caustic comments, but she says, "I would follow the man's advice, Zuko. A girl like me doesn't come around very often."

I can't help but laugh a little at her playful arrogance as the hand running through my hair grips forcefully upon it. Against my better judgement, I say, "Alright, Xiang. How about tomorrow night?"

Her smile widens, exposing dimples in her cheeks as she wordlessly takes another sip of her jasmine tea.

* * *

The poignant image of the twilight echoes across my vision as I exit my teashop; the odd, colorful light burns brighter than the midday sun, bathing the world in it's ethereal glow. I tuck myself further into the folds of my heavy cloak, feeling the kindly heat from my body recycle inwards, attempting to force the chill from my bones. It does not often get below freezing here in the Fire Nation, but it does get cold. 

I wince inwardly as a chill rain drops fat, icy bits of water upon me; coating my hat and face with a thin film of the cold rain. The overcast clouds hanging overhead cast a steel gray backdrop across the world, clashing oddly with the bloom of color off in the distance. My body begins to shake from shivering, and I step underneath a nearby awning to warm myself before I continue on.

I can see my shop across the street. "The Dragon of the West" is spelled out in ostentatious red wooden letters cast over the gray stone of the walls. The basic decoration seems oddly out of place amidst the garishness of the merchant sector; one fairly plain building standing amidst brightly colored shops and stores and bazaars of all shapes and kinds.

Looking intently, I can still see the splinters of wood and leftovers of caulk giving the vague image of a capital "J" just behind my teashop's title. A remnant of it's former name. A remnant of a past life.

It's time to go.

It is a silent journey, as all the sane people huddle in their domiciles for warmth, leaving the streets pleasantly empty. The dim splash of puddles underneath my boots plays the only music that accompanies the rhythm of my feet as I pad out onwards, through the mass of buildings and structures, into the middle class area of town.

As I pass through a cobblestone intersection, I glance to my right, observing the vague image of my apartment several blocks down. I can almost see my little balcony, the potted plant sitting outside, the black steel girders of the guardrail. Resolutely, I trek onwards.

The morbid stone of the multiple effigies stands out caustically amidst the pleasant green of the grass, now cast in the aluminum drab of the overcast sky. The patter of my feet on stone abruptly transforms into a sharp crunch as I pass the entrance into the graveyard, careful to stay upon the gravel path.

It's a small graveyard. Not overfilled, but to the point where it's doubtful that more will be buried here. A fractured, icy wind blows across my face; a bundle of roses in my periphery is blown into the grass.

The black marble of his headstone stands out amidst the sea of quartz and granite; the one luxury he allowed. A small flame appears in my hand as I reach forward, lighting the lantern above him. A flower appears in the other, as I carefully pull it from its haven within my overcoat.

The pure white jasmine lays softly against the foot of his grave, as I think of the words to say.

"It's been awhile..." I begin, glancing up at the walls of the yard, silently relieved at its emptiness. "It's been awhile...since you've been gone. Three years, to the day. And not a day has gone by that I haven't missed you. My one regret is that I could have appreciated you more while you were still around."

"Your teashop is doing really well. I could have moved it into a richer side of town several times by now, but I think you would like it better where it is. We get some really colorful customers, now. And your tea is a big hit."

"I've been doing pretty well, too. In fact, I've been happier now than I can ever remember being. Ha, I've even got a date tomorrow night, if you can believe it. Me! And she's beautiful, too. Her name is Xiang, and I think you would really like her. She's...different. Definitely a little more independent than most girls. And she comes in all the time."

"Anyways, I came today to thank you. Again. For everything. Because I wouldn't have all of the things I do now if it wasn't for you, Uncle. You gave me my life back. Actually, that's not right. You gave me a life that I didn't have beforehand. And that's why I changed the name of our teashop, from the Jasmine Dragon to your nickname. Because that way, you'll always be a part of the little place, just like you wanted."

My hands reach up, pulling my warm cap off of my head and clutching it to my chest, as my head dips downwards in solemn reverence. The tears begin to trail down my cheeks as irrepressible memories of happiness and wisdom cast images of the past in my mind. He had so much life. I loved him so much.

A quavering sob pulses through my voice as I continue. "I remember...I remember you once called some bad tea 'nothing but hot leaf juice'. I said that all tea was hot leaf juice, and you just smiled at my naivete. But now...now I think I understand. I understand the difference between the jasmine tea I make and the crappy hot leaf juice people get in other places. There really is an internal difference, that comes from the reverence the tea brewer has for the tea, as opposed to those who cobble it together for a quick profit. It really is the love. And..well, Uncle, every time I make more jasmine tea, your face comes across my memory. And aside from yours, it's the best I've ever tasted."

My knee makes a wet squelching sound in the mud as I kneel before his gravestone. For the first time since I've been here, I read the letters, permanently driven into the solid marble surface. Their white legibility will read out for future generations to look at, and admire.

_"Here lies Iroh, called the Dragon of the West. He is survived by his nephew, Zuko. He was a great man, loved by all. We will miss him dearly."_

Stark, plain and simple. Exactly as he asked for. The petty lords had wanted to erect a bronze monolithic statue in his honor, complete with a long plaque listing his exploits for the greatness of the Fire Nation. I had refused. Let the textbooks spew out their propaganda concerning him. All that should be here, for people to see, was what was most important. And this little eulogy is all that's needed.

My fist rubs furiously underneath my eyes, prying the tears from my face as I rise upwards, sniffing loudly. An odd warm breeze flows through my hair as I reach my full height, and a slow, wistful smile plays across my cheeks.

"Sleep well, Uncle," I say slowly, reaching outwards and feeling the chill marble underneath my fingertips. "I'll meet you again someday. Until then, I think I'll enjoy the gift you gave me. I love you, Uncle."

With that, I slowly turn around, and begin the trek towards my apartment. Somehow, the night has brought with it warmer temperatures. The clouds have begun to fade, and I can see the white speckles of stars in the great navy background.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's it! That's the kind of style I thought I would give Zuko. Yeah, I know, it may seem a bit weird that he's not the Firelord, but I just don't see him as wanting to inherit the throne. Instead, here he is, happily living his life in the same manner that he enjoyed with Iroh in Ba Sing Se for that brief amount of time. I also tried out a bit of a new writing style, where I basically told you as the reader as little as possible. Did it work, or was it kind of confusing? Please let me know! And what did you think of Xiang? She will also play into the story coming up! 

The decision to make Iroh have died several years prior was not an easy one, but I figure Zuko has to kind of stretch out on his own, and Iroh can't guide him forever. Iroh is probably my third favorite character behind Toph and Sokka, but honestly, I just don't think I'm smart/wise enough to write from his perspective!

Hope this helps to pass the time before the sequel! It's coming along pretty well, I've got some interesting characters made up and a nice little plot layout so far. It's going to be big, though, probably longer than Release (though that's just a guess), and it's still a waaays off. Keep reading!

Superbleh11


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